The toolbox sat on the workbench like it had been waiting fifteen years for this moment.
Colossus stood behind me, massive arms caged around my smaller frame, chin resting on top of my head. His presence was the only thing keeping my hands steady as I ran my fingers over the faded initials burned into the lid.
MV. Marcus Voss. Ghost.
“You don’t have to do this tonight,” he murmured, lips brushing my hair. “We can wait until morning. Church. The whole club.”
I shook my head. “No more waiting. If this is what the Reapers have been hunting, I want to know what my father died — or ran — for.”
He didn’t argue. Just kissed the side of my neck once, slow and grounding, then stepped back to give me space. “I’m right here, wrench girl.”
I found the false bottom easier than I expected. A small
